Through The Glass Half Empty: Fragments
by Alory Shannon
Summary: A collection of drabbles examining the various facets and possible outcomes of the relationship between Uchiha Sasuke and Haruno Sakura.
1. i, Broken, Toys, Call

_A/N: A drabble collection. Prompts taken from the "30 angsts" LJ community, though I changed the secondary theme to one of my own choosing._

This might be slightly confusing, but for a few of these, I wrote about some of the possible futures (or lack thereof) for this couple; thus, not all of these drabbles are "canon," and not all of them "fit" together. You have been warned, so I don't want any comments about this.

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**- 1. Broken (all the pretty little pieces) -**

He has been broken since he was a child.

The loss of all his loved ones at such a young age shattered something inside him, not something so cliché as his "heart," but something integral to forming relationships and friendships nonetheless. Being near other people in whom this_ something_ is still fully intact is painful, and so he seeks solitude to spare himself that unnecessary discomfort.

He is still little more than a child, and he is still broken, but for a time, Sakura is sure that he is healing somehow, at least a bit. He is warmer, less distant, more willing to spend time with them, with her. The broken pieces are not being shifted or twisted or moved; they are being joined together, jagged edges smoothed away, and while what is being formed is not exactly what had been broken, the pain is fading, and that is all that matters.

But such contentment cannot last, not for someone so fractured and incomplete. All he needs is a catalyst to return to his previous state, and such a thing is difficult--no,_ impossible_--to avoid. Sakura fears that he will run away to seek what he cannot find hidden among the leaves, and though she begs and pleads and cries and _swears_ that she loves him more than anything, still he leaves her with a headache and a flimsy attempt at gratitude.

There are some things that simply cannot be fixed, and she has to learn to accept that sometimes the pieces are too small to ever be put back together.

* * *

**- 2. Toys (playtime isn't just for children) -**

Uchiha Sasuke is a puzzle, and Haruno Sakura has more than a little trouble deciphering him. She finds to her immense frustration that she simply cannot understand him: there is no discernable pattern in his treatment of her. He seems so cold most of the time, and yet she gets the feeling that he is not really being honest, either with her or himself.

For, as little as he seems to care about her when they are safely in Konoha and going about their everyday lives, the instant she is in any sort of danger on a mission, the very moment she braces herself to take a hit, _he_ is suddenly there, blocking the kick, or deflecting the kunai, or even taking the blow in her stead.

But when she tries to thank him, he is gruff and silent once more, always refusing to meet her eyes or divulge his reason for protecting her.

_True shinobi don't let their teammates get killed,_ he finally mutters once, but he looks away too quickly for that to be the whole truth and refuses to say anything more on the matter.

Sakura is more than a little confused by his actions, but she cannot accuse him of playing with her emotions, of that she is certain: for he has never done anything but reject her outright.

* * *

**- 3. Hand phone; cell phone; mobile phone (on call at all times) -**

Working in a hospital is a largely thankless job. Oftentimes the people you're working with are in too much pain to show proper appreciation for everything that you're doing for them (and at times you really _are_ doing everything for them). And yet, regardless of that Sakura still spends as much time as possible inside that building, oftentimes working herself to the point of exhaustion. In any emergency, she is the one who they call, and no matter what time of night, the nurses and other medic-nin know that Sakura will be there almost instantly, breathless and businesslike and pushing up her sleeves in a determined manner, demanding to know the specifics of the situation and snapping out orders. She is always on call, and more than a few patients should by all rights be grateful for that simple, unwavering dedication.

That sort of resolute commitment isn't only seen in vocational situations; it is a character trait that is exhibited in every aspect of her life. She is unbendingly, unswervingly loyal to her Village, to her family, and to her friends.

She is also loyal to herself, however, to her heart and her own feelings, despite the pain and assorted complications that more often than not are the only results of that devotion. That is why, despite his standoffish attitude, she refuses to give up on Sasuke. After all, he isn't cold _all _the time: occasionally he lets her touch him, comfort him, simply be with him, and even more rarely he comes to her seeking these things.

But never once has he thanked her, not since that night when they were twelve and she caught him leaving the village.

Perhaps he thinks it unnecessary, or too trite a phrase to express his gratitude, or perhaps he really and truly isn't thankful for everything she does for him.

But no matter what, she will always be there for him; no matter what, she will always answer his silent calls for help, even if she never again hears a single "thank you" fall from his lips.


	2. ii, Disguise, True Love, Curiosity

**- 4. Angels and Devils; Disguise (repressed conscience, hidden guilt) -**

When he lets himself think about it--which isn't often--Sasuke hates himself for how he treats her.

He is constantly pushing her away, testing her limits, seeing just how much abuse she'll take before she finally gives up on him and becomes as cold towards him as he seems to be towards her. He isn't positive that that is really an end he wants to achieve, doesn't know if she'll ever give up on him, and while the rational part of him insists that _yes,_ of course she will, she has to, no one can stand up to this sort of emotional abuse forever, another, deeper and more empathic part of himself knows with absolute certainty that _no,_ she won't ever really abandon him--she loves him far too much to do so.

This certainty leaves him feeling profoundly and unbearably guilty, which only serves to make him attempt to place even more distance between them, a wasted effort which always inevitably fails.

He is even more disgusted with himself for the dark, unbidden pleasure he feels when he watches her cry, knowing that those priceless tears she's shedding are all being spent for him, are all dedicated to him and him alone. He shouldn't _enjoy_ hurting her, and while for the most part he tries to avoid doing so at all costs, he cannot deny the fact that some vague, sinister fragment of his innermost self relishes the heartbroken expression he receives every time he denies her, and the way she flinches beneath his glare, and most of all the momentary flicker of fear that flashes across her face when he grabs and grasps her arm just a bit too tightly.

He loathes himself for it, but he cannot deny the fact that when she cries, he thinks she is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

And so he ignores her, and berates her, and talks down to her, refusing to acknowledge her as his equal, though in his heart of hearts he knows that there are probably few people so evenly matched. And yet he disregards his instinctive attraction and turns his back on what he knows is most likely the brightest future imaginable for someone like himself, unrelentingly denying himself the comfort and the pleasure of her company.

But it's for her own good, really. She deserves so much better than the twisted, utterly unrecognisable _thing_ that is all that remains of what had once been his heart.

And though he wonders at the exquisite tears as they trace their glittering paths down her face, admiring the way they make her eyes shine an extraordinarily clear and delicate shade of green, he can't help but feel just a little bit of remorse.

Because although his conscience is hardening, and every time it is just a little bit easier for him to push her away, he knows that for Sakura the pain of rejection never gets any easier to bear.

* * *

**- 5. True Love (total selflessness)** - 

It was when she was walking home from training with Tsunade late one evening, muscles aching, fists bandaged and bloody, bruises covering her arms and legs, with dust in her hair, on her face, covering her clothes, that she realised that in a way she was really doing all of this for _him._ She was becoming stronger so that she could help Naruto bring Sasuke back. She wasn't content to stand by and watch them fight any more; she wanted to be involved; she wanted to be able to help.

Tagging on to that thought was another realisation: the sudden knowledge that she really would do anything for him. She would train until she collapsed, study every book on medical jutsu she could get her hands on, fight every enemy that got in her way and_ win_ and _live_ simply because she had to get to his side. And once she was there, she would do anything that she could to make sure she never had to leave him—fight, kill, bleed, and even…

_Yes,_ she thought, her mouth curving into the faded sliver of a smile. _I would die for him._

And that was when she knew it was true love.

* * *

**- 6. Curiosity (the taste of wonder)** - 

It is dark by the time training is done for the day, and after a lot of blustering from Naruto and a few subtle, well-placed threats from Sai and Kakashi, somehow Sasuke finds himself walking Sakura home.

Sakura hasn't really stopped apologising for inconveniencing him, which is beginning to grate on his nerves. "It's not a problem," he finally says tersely. "It's not that far out of my way, so I don't really care."

This seems to satisfy her for the time being, because she falls into a contented silence. "Ano, I know a shortcut that will get us to my place faster," she says after a while and points off to their left. "It's this way."

Anything that gets him out of this annoying escort duty more quickly is to be seen as undeniably advantageous, so Sasuke grunts in agreement, and Sakura turns down an exceptionally narrow alleyway that is nearly hidden in the deepening shadows. The air is damp and smells of rust and mold, and Sasuke's shoulders nearly brush the walls at some points. Small, indistinctly grey forms that he assumes are rats skitter around his feet and scrabble off down even narrower side-passages, and Sasuke wonders just how often Sakura has taken this route; even in broad daylight, he doubts that it would be very safe.

"Almost there," Sakura calls back to him cheerfully, just as he's starting to think she's lost her way.

The alleyway widens slightly, enough for two people to walk side by side, and Sasuke falls into step beside her, his eyes still moving about them constantly. It is getting brighter, the end of the alleyway is just a few yards ahead, but he is too busy gauging the distance up the moisture-streaked, graffitied walls to really notice that they narrow one final time, and he suddenly finds himself walking close enough to Sakura to feel the heat coming off her body and to make out each individual eyelash that frames her strikingly green eyes.

She suddenly wavers a bit as her foot lands on a wet patch, and his hand shoots out to grasp her arm, steadying her; she looks up at him gratefully, and a memory from a previous day flickers unbidden through Sasuke's mind, Naruto's mocking, snickering voice ringing throughout it: _"You're never kissed a girl before, have you, teme? Don't you ever wonder what it's like?"_

He hadn't admitted it to the dobe, of course, but he actually_ was_ just a bit curious…and this opportunity to satisfy that curiosity is simply too good to pass up.

Her eyes go wide as he leans closer, lowering his head to press his mouth against hers.

It is awkward at first, but her lips are soft and warm, and so he adds more force to the kiss until she gasps slightly, just as he'd hoped she would. Instantly he deepens the kiss, tasting and exploring every inch of her mouth, marveling at the feel of this remarkable new sensation. Blood pounds hotly in his ears, and without breaking away, he shoves her against the wall, trapping her there with his body, allowing his hands to roam a bit; Sakura does not protest in the slightest, and he half-opens his eyes to see that her own are closed in abandon, and as he pauses, she moans a bit into his mouth.

At this he blinks and steps back suddenly, eyeing her speculatively and licking his lips, as if in an attempt to savour the taste of the kiss. Her eyes slowly ease open, and he sees that they are dilated, pupils nearly eclipsing pale green irises, as she gazes up at him with some unreadable expression on her face. As he watches, her cheeks slowly begin to colour, and she opens her mouth as if to speak.

Before she can utter a single word, he turns and starts off again, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had happened.

"S-Sasuke-kun…" Her voice is full of confusion and hesitance and, he realises to his sudden disgust, hope.

Stopping, he turns his head to look over his shoulder at her. "Hai?"

One delicate hand wavers inches away from her noticeably reddened lips, and confusion seems to have won the three-way battle for control of her emotions; the look she's giving him is fraught with it.

"What…what did that…?" She shakes her head a bit, dropping her hand and clenching her fists determinedly. "Why did you…?"

She trails off as he snorts softly and gives a minute shrug and a slight smirk. "Don't read anything into it, Sakura." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turns and continues on his way down the street, casually calling back, "I was just curious, that's all."


	3. iii, Interest, Hide & Seek, Articles

_A/N: Themes 8 and 9 are out of order because I don't particularly like #9, and I -do- like to end chapters on a strong note.  
_

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**- 7. Interest (denial of truth) -**

"Ah, c'mon, admit it. You're _totally _in love with her."

The blonde grins over at him slyly, nudges him with an elbow, and ignores the blatant death glare he is currently receiving from his raven-haired companion.

"I don't know what you're talking about, dobe."

Naruto snorts and pops another of the _takoyaki_ sitting on the platter between them into his mouth, chewing a grand total of three times before talking around it and earning himself a disgusted look from the Uchiha. "Like hell you don't."

Sasuke rolls his eyes as Naruto swallows with a clearly audible gulp, pretending to be just as interested in the conversation as he is in watching Naruto eat. Which is to say, not at all.

"I'm _talking_ about Sakura-chan, and you know it, teme," the Kyuubi container finally manages to get out despite the rather impressive amount of fried octopus he's just shoved into his mouth; Sasuke isn't looking at him, and judging by the wet, sloppy sound of his voice, that is not at all a bad thing. After another ridiculously loud swallow—

"I've seen the way you look at her."

_That_ turns Sasuke's head, and he watches through dangerously narrowed eyes as a slow, toothy grin spreads itself over Naruto's face.

Predictably the blonde ignores the obvious warning in his friend's glare. "You look at her like you've never seen a girl before. Like you'd never noticed the existence of tits or legs or asses until she started wearing those short medic skirts and that one low-cut top. You know the one I mean."

Sasuke does indeed know, and quite well at that, though even multiple interrogation sessions with Morino Ibiki would fail to pry _that_ admission from him.

"You always get to her first if she gets in trouble on a mission," Naruto continues despite the visible chill in the other man's eyes, "and you always _insist_ on having her take care of you whenever you're sent to the hospital. I've seen you staring at her when you think no one else is paying attention. And despite the fact that you still turn her down whenever she asks you to do stuff with her, even just as friends, I think you actually really _admire_ her—"

The tension in Sasuke's shoulders has been noticeably increasing with each bit of evidence that Naruto brings up, but that last allegation is what finally succeeds in pushing the Uchiha over his limit. "Shut _up,_ idiot!" he snarls, standing so quickly that his chair skitters backwards and slams into the table behind him. "What's to admire in someone like her? She's never been _half_ as strong as I am, and she's nearly as talkative and hardheaded as _you!_ As if I'd _ever_ look her way twice!"

A flush of anger washes over Naruto's face and he bares his teeth at the man across the table. "Sasuke-teme—!"

But before he can grit out a defence of their female teammate, the Uchiha is already gone, stalking out of the shabby little restaurant and down the street, glaring indiscriminately at anyone unfortunate enough to meet his eyes.

_Me, in love with Sakura?_ He scoffs aloud. _Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous! I can't _believe_ that even someone as stupid as that dobe would think that I would _ever_ be interested in her!_

He continues this indignant discourse within his mind until he reaches safety. As the familiar desolation of the Uchiha district surrounds him, the lonesome wind that has long been the sole inhabitant of the lifelessly gaping buildings slips around corners and through cracks in shattered windows and broken doors to twine itself around him, whispering reassuring agreements in his ears as he doggedly persists in his mental denial of his blonde teammate's accusations.

_Absolutely ridiculous,_ he thinks yet again as he slips his sandals off before moving through dark rooms in his cold, empty house.

But the worst part is, adamant as his denials may be, he knows that those accusations are entirely true.

**

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****- 9. Hide-and-Seek (not a game anymore) -**

Ever since she was small, Sakura has hated playing hide-and-seek. As one of the more unpopular children, the constant teasing and assorted minor cruelties she was subjected to extended into the realm of childhood games, including hide-and-seek. She hated that game more than all the others because it always meant she ended up alone. If she hid, no one ever came to find her, even if she hid in the most obvious of places. If she was seeking, the whole group ran off at top speed the moment she closed her eyes and started counting, and sometimes she spent hours looking for her so-called 'friends' before realising that they weren't playing hide-and-seek, they were playing with _her._

Those were the days before Ino, before she learned that she was _worth_ something and that she had potential, before she learned to be strong and stand on her own.

It's ironic, she thinks, that years later she's still playing that same wretched game.

Only now it's not really a game at all.

It is a matter of life and death, it is completely and utterly serious, and it is nothing to be approached lightly, but he _is_ hiding, and she's seeking, and she is determined to find him. She will not give up, no matter what the cost, no matter how long it takes, even if it means that she will end up alone in the end.

She closed her eyes and she counted to three _(three long years)_ but she refuses to count any higher. It is time for action, and this time, she's willing to spend the rest of her life looking. She _will _find him, whether he wants to be found or not, and nothing will lessen her determination to do so; and regardless of what may happen, she will continue playing the game, even if it turns out he's only playing with her.

**

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- 8. Articles; Newspapers (no matter what they say)-  
**

It is a typically beautiful day in early summer, and it happens to find Haruno Sakura and Yamanaka Ino walking together down the tree-lined paths on the outer edge of Konoha. They are eating ice cream, and Sakura is giggling over Ino's story about Shikamaru's highly suspicious reaction to the news that Temari would be staying in Konoha to act as a liaison between Suna and Konoha.

"His face went all red, and he just stared at Tsunade-sama for a full minute, absolutely speechless. He couldn't even get out a 'how troublesome' until she'd dismissed us and we were halfway out of the building." The blonde fourteen-year-old grins before taking a bite out of the cone of black cherry ice cream in her hand. "He's got it bad, alright. Chouji and I have vowed that once Temari actually gets here, we're going to tease Shika mercilessly until he agrees to go on at least one date with her. It's for his own good, after all!"

Sakura smiles and captures a stray droplet of her own quickly-melting peach-flavoured ice cream, foiling its attempted escape down the far side of the cone. It is nice to know that things seem to be working out for some people, at least, and although she knows that Shikamaru will complain about what a pain it is to have the blonde Sand nin around, she also knows that he won't really mean a word of it.

"…I can't _believe_ we all actually used to like him. How stupid was that?"

A vaguely familiar voice coming from somewhere nearby catches both girls' attentions; they exchange a look and move forward just a bit faster, and as they come around a sharp curve in the path, they find themselves looking at a cluster of their old classmates from their days at the Academy.

A girl with short black hair named Ami is the one currently speaking, and she doesn't seem to notice Ino and Sakura's sudden appearance, or else doesn't care enough to acknowledge them. "I always thought there was something a little off about him, and obviously I was right. I wouldn't have him now if he came to me _begging,"_ she says with a haughty toss of her head. "I mean, sure, Sasuke was cool and good-looking and everything, but he's nothing more than a worthless traitor now. Stupid, sick-minded deserter, I hope the hunter-nins find him and give him what he deserves—"

Sakura suddenly sees red, and the next thing she knows, Ino, and surprisingly enough Genma and Kakashi, are pulling her off a crying, whimpering Ami; the other girls who had been with her are nowhere to be seen.

"But I didn't _do_ anything," the dark-haired kunoichi is blubbering tearfully as Genma helps her to her feet. Sakura snarls wordlessly at this and would have thrown herself at the other kunoichi once again if not for Kakashi's firm grip on her shoulders and Ino's equally firm grip on one of her arms.

Sakura's shirt is torn, her headband has slipped sideways, causing her short pink hair to stick up at a crazy angle, and she has dirt on her face, but other than that, she looks little worse for the wear.

Ami, on the other hand, is not nearly so fortunate. Numerous scratches and bruises cover what is visible of her skin, including a few particularly painful-looking ones on her jaw and left cheek; one of her eyes has already nearly swollen shut, blood from a gash on her forehead is trickling down into the other, and Kakashi can tell even from a cursory glance that her nose is broken.

"You got things under control here?" Genma asks Kakashi slowly, and as his eyes flicker over the still somewhat murderous-looking Sakura, he thanks Kami that he and the Copy Nin had just happened to be on their way back from an uneventful escort mission. Who knew how long this decidedly one-sided fight would've gone on otherwise--or, rather, who knew how badly Ami might have been injured.

Kakashi nods silently, and Genma ushers Ami off towards the hospital; Sakura feels a sense of grim satisfaction as she notes the pronounced limp in the other girl's stride.

"Care to explain what happened here?" the silver-haired jounin asks, relaxing his grip on her shoulders, and though his tone is deceptively light and pleasant, Sakura knows him well enough to recognise the hidden steel in his voice.

"I can't stand to hear people talking about him that way." Her voice is low, and Kakashi notices that she is still glaring hard after Ami; but as the other kunoichi disappears around a bend in the path, the pink-haired girl pulls out of his grasp and turns to face him fully, her expression clear and serious. "It's been nearly a year now, and I know what everyone thinks about Sasuke-kun now--they hate him, and call him a traitor and all sorts of other names…" She raises her chin, holding her head with a proud tilt, and meets her old sensei's single visible eye directly, her tone somber and unapologetic. "…But I still care for him, no matter what anyone else says."


	4. iv, Chemistry, Messenger, Books

_A/N: Explanation for #10...I am a huge nerd. Lawl. _

**

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- 10. Chemistry (what's between us) - **

Sasuke sees things differently than most, and this is not only due to the gift of his clan that runs deep in his veins and bleeds crimson in his eyes. He is more detached, more objective, more coldly analysing about everything his eyes settle on.

But of course, they always say that geniuses see things differently than others do.

Equations flood his vision everywhere he looks, compositions swirl before his eyes, aggregate materials organise themselves precisely, precipitates separate neatly from solutions, and his eyes miss nothing. Everything is considered, calculated, compared--the contents of a meal, the usefulness of another shinobi, the amount of wear a garment can withstand before another would need to be purchased, the balance and weight of a shuriken, the intelligence level of whoever he's with at the moment. Measurements—capacity, density, dimensions—are what matter, and it is because of this that he tries to keep his eyes focused outwards, on the failures and inadequacy that surround him, because every time he happens to catch a glance of his own face in a mirror or shop window or puddle, he is struck once again by his own shortcomings and imperfections, and he does not like the reminder of what--and who--he is not.

There is an exact science to his relationships as well, a delicate chemistry that requires constant estimation and cautious adjustment at every turn. They are delicate equations balanced with painstaking care, and each is different from the other, though all have managed to form their unique, individual bonds with him.

Bonds. Science works its way into even this aspect of his life, labeling and classifying the relationships, studying them, summing them up and then storing them away where they can have no effect on him and his current _(perpetual)_ obsession.

Kakashi. Hydrogen bond. His ties to his former teacher are strong, but they are not as strong as his ties to his teammates. They are similar in many ways, however, both gifted (or cursed) with intelligence and the same cold-blooded vision, both remnants, the sole survivors of their once-proud and prominent clans. Carefully maintained veneers gloss over their true selves, though one chooses irresponsibility and false levity as his mask while the other selects apathy and contempt. Silver-haired jounin and raven-locked prodigy alike both limit the number of close connections they allow themselves to make--they have formed bonds before, only to have every last one of them thoughtlessly, mercilessly, meaninglessly destroyed, and they are much more wary now of allowing chance or fate or whatever the hell it is that was responsible the chance to tear into them again. He took all that he could from the older man, and for a time it was enough, for both of them.

His eyes narrow slightly when he thinks of Hatake Kakashi now. He is not repentant, and had he the chance to do things differently, he knows that he would not take it; he would not alter anything, he would still leave, his goal flickering ahead of him, always just out of reach and taunting him with every step he took until walking became nearly unbearable and rushing forward blindly was the only thing that could dull the pain of failure and the inconsequentiality of his own existence.

He does, however, feel the faintest brush of shame for being the one to forcefully break one of the few bonds the other shinobi allowed himself to form, and just a hint of sadness for betraying the man who taught him that one's own life is a small price to pay for that of a true friend.

Naruto. Covalent bond. They had a lot more in common than he'd been willing at admit at first, and their shared experiences--longing for acceptance, a fierce desire to prove themselves and fulfill their chosen goal, but first and foremost and absolutely above all else that empty, gut wrenching _loneliness_--drew them to each other, firmly cementing their friendship as well as their rivalry. They worked well as a team—what one couldn't do, the other surely could—and it was always give and take, insults, challenges, injuries, but compassion and protection and concern as well, and Sasuke knew quite well that their bond was perhaps the strongest and most lasting one either of them had ever formed.

A ghost of a smile crosses his face when he thinks of the blonde idiot; so much energy, so much determination, so much warmth and acceptance for everyone, anyone who wanted it. But the already indistinct smile always dissipates completely after a moment, because despite the many similarities, Sasuke knows that they are also as different as night and day, winter and summer, darkness and light.

The dobe is loud, talkative, boastful, and somehow despite his endless failures and the scorn and condemnation riddling his childhood, his heart is full. Sasuke is quiet, dignified, reserved, and was the most popular and promising child in his class, was born into an elite clan in one of the strongest hidden villages, and has power, money, and good looks…and yet despite his fortunate birth, he is the one who has ended up alone, and he has never felt so hollow and empty.

His mouth turns down as he contemplates the last and most perplexing of his relationships. But he knows which one she is just as surely as he knew the others.

Sakura. Ionic bond. They are complete opposites, having almost nothing in common, save for the fact that both are exceptionally bright as well as exceptionally stubborn and exceptionally talented. But she contains an element that he has never possessed, a component that he can neither grasp nor comprehend, an idea that is totally foreign to him now, and it gives her that eternally positive charge that he, in his negativity, can never resist stealing away.

She believes that he will come home, that they will be together again, the four of them, the only family that one of them ever had, the only remaining family for two of the others. She believes that he is strong enough to resist the beckoning darkness, to fight back the poison that sleeps in and slithers through his veins. She believes in him, and he cannot understand why, for all he has ever done is hurt and reject her, yet somehow she still loves him, still cares for him more than anyone else. She gives of herself willingly, anything he wants, everything she can possibly give, and she gives it as often as possible, never seeming to expect anything in return, and he takes what she offers and does not disappoint her expectations, never giving anything back other than an occasional half-smile and a few scattered, impassive words.

Sasuke bows his head a bit and lowers his eyes when he thinks about her now, for hers is the only memory that awakens any sort of regret in him. Because he can push away sorrow and shame, can ignore his own emptiness and the bitter taste it leaves in his mouth, but there is _something_ about her that he cannot ever completely banish from his mind—a certain glow about her face, a particular sparkle in her eye—and his own eyes tell him that it is a byproduct of the one thing she has that neither she nor anyone else can ever give him.

She possesses hope.

**

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**- 11. Messenger (my heart told me) -**

She still isn't quite certain just how she knew he would leave that night.

It was a decidedly strange sensation; there was an odd tension weaving throughout the Village, and somehow everything meant infinitely more than it usually did.

The patchy yellow moonlight dripped and oozed through gaps in trees and buildings in wide rivulets, saturating the dark earth with faintly glowing patterns which contained secrets that Sakura knew were unfathomable but absolutely and undeniably true.

The rustle of the leaves was a hissing murmur, telling her that _something_ was happening, something important and earth-shaking and life-shattering, and she had better not go home just yet or she'd miss it.

Even the steady beating of her heart and the gentle rise-and-fall rhythm of her breath seemed to fit into the night's strange tune, silence and the voice of the wind her only accompaniment.

There was scarcely a soul out and about that night, and no one had seen to tell her that a dark, resolute figure was making its way through the deserted streets towards the gates.

Somehow, she just knew.

She ponders that now on occasion, staring at a faded picture of a faded memory, idly wondering how she had known that _that_ night was the night, whether it was the wind or the moonlight or the lack of human activity or something deeper instead, and always she comes back to what she knows is the truth, what she knows the same way that she knew Sasuke would be leaving that night.

And as cliché and as foolish as it sounds, Sakura knows that the real informant that night was something inside herself, something that would not let him go without allowing her the chance to see him one last time. He couldn't leave without saying at least a stilted sort of farewell; she couldn't let him leave without making her confession.

She knew him too well, and cared about him too much, for anything to be that easy.

* * *

**- 12. Books (read between the lines) -**

Sakura has always loved to read. Books and scrolls hold knowledge about all sorts of wonderful and important and interesting things, just waiting for her to open them and eagerly absorb the waiting information. They never protest when their secrets are learned; in fact, they are serving their purpose, and nothing could make them happier.

Reading books is easy; reading people is something else altogether.

Sakura knows some people are just like those books, open and eager to share themselves, full of clean, crisp text with nothing to hide and everything to give.

Others (and she knows these people too) are closed books, locked or hidden away from everyone else's prying eyes. Their covers are often the most attractive, but regardless of how hard she tries, some of them still refuse to open, and so she gives up rather than tear the pages because she can see that they are stuck together with something, and that something looks suspiciously like blood. But sometimes they do open to her, at least a little, allowing her to see a few messily-written lines, a few scrawled sentences, and she is left wanting more, ever so much more from those dark, ink-smeared, blood-splattered pages. The secrets they contain are sinister and mysterious and addictive, but if given the chance, she would learn them all by heart, regardless of what stains might be left on her own bright pages as a result. But most of the time, all she is permitted to see are the covers, the outward display that attempts so desperately to hide the fact that the binding is broken and pages are falling out.

Sasuke is a closed book.


	5. v, Physics, Kiss, First Time

_A/N: #15 was a bit of an experiment with prose style. Hope it's not too confusing._

* * *

**- 13. Physics (momentum) -**

The world is constantly in motion, Sakura knows, whirling on its axis as it spins through space, and as she bends over the medical texts on the desk before her, the ticking of the clock on the wall in Tsunade's office reminds her that time is always creeping forwards as well. It's hard to remember that everything is moving, though, when the other parts of her team are absent--it's strange that, for once, there is no one to follow, there are no backs to watch and to try to catch up to.

She's missing pieces, yes, but their absence leaves the machinery so much simpler, so much more efficient. She is free to move at her own pace, building herself up and growing and stretching, slow (she always was a late bloomer) but solid and strong like the trees in thick forests surrounding her home village.

Then, abruptly, after nearly three years, after finally finding her own stride and settling herself into it so comfortably, everything is thrown off-balance and off-center and into fast-forward in a suddenly blur of orange. Without any real warning she is flung ahead, her old teammate's energy adding to her advance with explosive results--and good thing too, because the time that had seemed to stretch on forever just a few months ago suddenly seems so very short.

She is gaining speed, pushed onward by Naruto's seemingly boundless energy as well as the force of her own determination, and what she carries inside her has only accumulated more mass as time has gone on, and now stopping is no longer an option.

She half expects that she will shatter herself against one of the many walls their _other _teammate has set in place; it's what happened last time, and it would take a miracle for things to come out differently this time…and Sakura knows all too well that miracles have always been Naruto's specialty, not her own.

But regardless of everything that happened in the past, things _are _different this time.

This time when wide green eyes meet with hard, flat black, she is not standing still; this time she has all the strength and power and speed necessary to force her way in, to smash through and break down all obstacles. This time when he turns to go she is strong enough to catch hold, to hang on and not let go.

And this time, he doesn't ask her to.

But now, she too, is moving forward too quickly to stop them, to save him. He is hurtling forward headlong, a slave to the momentum of his hatred, and she is pulled along after him to whatever doom awaits, because regardless of whatever else happens, she will never give up on him, just as she will never let go of his hand.

**

* * *

****- 14. Kiss (regrettably unforgettable) – _follows the events of # 6 - Curiosity _**

Kissing Sakura, Sasuke decided, had been a terrible mistake.

No, not a mistake, he corrected himself (he hated thinking that he'd done _anything _wrong, thus he refused to admit that he had unless he was forced to). It was really more a simple miscalculation.

It wasn't Sakura's reaction that made him regret what he'd done, though that had been hard enough to deal with. He hated that all-too-familiar pained expression she'd given him, hated that awful, exasperating waver her voice took on whenever he'd done something to hurt or disappoint her, and most of all, he absolutely _hated_ making her cry. (Which he knew she'd done the instant she'd closed the door to her apartment behind her—he'd heard her, even though he'd been halfway down the stairs by then.) And although he'd noticed the slight strain in the smiles she gave him, as well as her sudden refusal to meet his eyes for any considerable length of time, he disregarded both, refusing to allow such things to affect his either his demeanor or his performance on missions and during training sessions.

It wasn't Naruto's reaction, either--the obnoxious blonde had been loud and irritating for years, and wasn't likely to ever be otherwise. He had blocked out the snarled lecture and fended off the angry attack easily enough, calmly and systematically thrashing the other shinobi, though he _had _come out of the match rather worse for the wear. But for the most part Sasuke could have cared less about the dobe's response to his actions--it certainly wasn't enough to make him wish he could take back that kiss. (Though exactly _how _Naruto had found out about that little incident did spark the Uchiha's curiosity somewhat, be it ever so slightly.)

And it certainly wasn't Kakashi's response, or that of the pale-skinned second-rate copy of himself that he _still _refused to interact with any more than was absolutely necessary (he had thought himself to be rather impolite, but _this _midriff-bearing falsely-smiling _thing _had him beat hands down in that category, albeit unintentionally). What were a few extra laps or rounds of hand-to-hand combat or forced exercises to him?

It was, instead, the reaction of someone else that worried him, someone whose response was always of utmost importance:

Himself, of course.

He'd done what he'd done thoughtlessly, impetuously, and for no deeper reason than simple curiosity; he hadn't expected to actually _enjoy _the kiss. So while his curiosity had been sated, desire had awakened in its stead, hungry and intense, forcefully demanding that he kiss her again…and that he keep going this time rather than pulling back.

But although it was tempting to obey that impulse, Uchiha Sasuke was anything but undisciplined, and so he pushed those thoughts and feelings away, just as he'd pushed away his desire for friends and his acknowledgement of all positive bonds for the three years he'd been gone.

Yet he couldn't forget the taste of her, the warmth of her mouth, her skin, or the smell of sweat and soap and her own unique scent mingling with the damp, dank moisture of the narrow alleyway where he'd kissed her. He'd been poisoned again--as if the Cursed Seal wasn't enough of a burden--but this time it was by his own doing, his own choice, and he would do nearly anything to press his mouth against hers again in a hard, forceful kiss, long, sweet, and almost but never quite satisfying...

…And he was confident that Sakura would have been more than happy to oblige…

But his rational side always caught up to him sooner or later, reminding him that he absolutely _could not_ allow himself to act on those urges, that nothing good could come of it. He would only end up hurting her, and he simply couldn't bring himself to do that. Because although there was a list of reasons a mile long as to why it _should _have been alright for him to give in and take what he wanted (what she'd freely offered time and again), all it took was one, simple counterargument to make him hold himself back:

He _really_ hated seeing her cry.

**

* * *

****- 15. First Time (snapshots) -**

The first time she noticed him, they were just classmates.

_It's her first day of classes at the Academy since she made friends with Ino the previous week, and to tell the truth, Sakura is more than a little nervous. She ties her hair back out of her face with the ribbon, just like the blonde girl had instructed; her mother looks slightly surprised at the change, but comments on it favourably. ('I like being able see your pretty face, dear. I don't know how you managed to throw your shuriken while trying see through all that hair…') As she walks down the street, she feels like everyone is staring at her and her huge, now completely visible forehead; by the time she reaches her classroom, she wants to tear the ribbon out and disappear into the shadows once more. She bites her lip hard and one hand starts to rise when suddenly--  
__'Hey, Sakura!'  
__Ino is waving at her from a seat near the front of the classroom, smiling widely, honestly glad to see her.  
__'Come sit with me, I saved you a seat!'  
__At this Sakura beams and starts forward, but halfway there, her eyes are drawn to a boy sitting alone across the room. Dark, unruly hair falls into equally dark eyes, which are focused almost unblinkingly on the open book before him. A slight frown of concentration pinches his face, his eyebrows settled low over his eyes, his mouth turned down, but it is not nearly enough to alter the fact that he's the cutest boy she's ever seen.  
__'Hey, earth to Sakura! What're you looking at? Come on!'  
__She blinks on realising that she's come to a stop, and hastily scrambles down the rest of the stairs and slides onto the bench next to Ino.  
__'You're such a space case,' the blonde sighs teasingly, but before Sakura can explain herself, Iruka-sensei is telling them to open their books to a certain page.  
__Throughout the lesson, however, her eyes keep slipping sideways to fix themselves on the dark-haired boy.  
__Why have I never noticed him before? she wonders, then stifles a giggle. Probably because of all that hair.  
__I wonder what his name is, she thinks, wishing she had the courage to introduce herself to him, or at least ask Ino. But she's still far too shy to do such a thing, so she resigns herself to never knowing—  
__'Uchiha Sasuke, please explain the strategy mentioned in the third paragraph on page 148.'  
__To her astonishment, the dark-haired boy stands and does so, his explanation flawless and delivered in quiet, terse sentences; then he gives a small, stiff bow and drops back into his seat, looking somewhat bored with the whole ordeal.  
__Sakura smiles, feeling a slight blush touch her cheeks as she sneaks another glance at the boy. 'Sasuke, huh? Uchiha Sasuke…'_

(They would be so much more in years to come.)

-  
The first time he looked at her, he thought she was just another girl.

_She eats lunch outside with Ino and her friends, seated on the grass in a circle. She can't help that her wandering gaze lands on a boy (it just so happens to be Sasuke) perched in a tree, eating alone. She doesn't realise that she's staring until he glances her way; she gulps at the unexpected eye contact and looks away quickly, though her gaze creeps back to him every so often.  
__He doesn't look her way again._

(She's nothing like the others, he'll realise one day.)

-  
The first time they touched was entirely accidental.

_She drops one of her kunai, and he bends reflexively to pick it up; small hands meet over cold steel, and a warm blush as pink as her namesake blooms over the cheeks of the young girl. Big green eyes dart up, hoping to meet deep black, but already he is looking elsewhere: at the target before him._

(She dropped her kunai a bit more often afterwards, but only when she was around him.)

-  
The first time she talked to him was nothing special.

_Survival exercises. That seems to be all Iruka-sensei is interested in these past few days, a fact that Sakura bemoans as she crouches in the deep shadows at the base of a particularly large tree to catch her breath.  
__She sighs and brushes her sweaty fringe out of her eyes, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree as she digs into the bag on her hip for her water canister.  
__Ever since she and Ino became rivals nearly a month before, the blonde girl had seemed to take a particular pleasure in making Sakura look bad whenever possible, especially during their exercises.  
__'Sasuke-kun won't look at you twice if you keep dropping your kunai, forehead-girl! ESPECIALLY since he's going to be SO busy watching me wipe the floor with you during our survival training exercises!'  
__'Talk all you want, pig, I won't lose to you!' she had growled in reply. It had sounded good at the time, but Sakura knows that the truth of the matter is that Ino really _is _better at most things--survival exercises included.  
__Today's exercise is one of Sakura's least favourites, something like a shinobi version of dodge ball, only instead of a wide open gym, the exercise was held in thickly forested areas, and instead of a ball, the opposing team throw kunai and shuriken. What Sakura dislikes, however, is that scuffles often break out--the wooded area makes it difficult for Iruka and the other two sensei to keep an eye on everyone--and, as one of the less popular children, she is always a clear target for bullying.  
__She'd just tilted her water canister back, just wet her lips, when the canister is suddenly knocked out of her hand; she jerks back in surprise, slipping on the crumbling bark of the large root behind her and falling backwards as water splashes in her face and down her front. The empty canister drops to the ground with a hollow clunk; she sits up and wipes water out of her eyes to find a group of girls standing over her, smirking down at her, and Sakura's eyes dart to the red armbands that clearly mark them as members of the opposing team.  
__'Aww, lookit the little baby that we've caught napping,' one of them sneers, taking step towards her, and Sakura has never wished for Ino's proud, confident presence more.  
__Without warning, a spray of shuriken fly through the air, marking a clear boundary line between Sakura and the other girls. Kunai soon follow, landing precisely where the girls had stood mere seconds before, but they're already bolting away at full speed, not even pausing long enough to sneer at Sakura one final time.  
__A moment later a dark form drops from the branches above, and Sakura can do nothing but stare as Uchiha Sasuke silently retrieves his weapons, tucking them back into pouch and holster; her eyes fix themselves on the yellow armband he's wearing, and she clutches her own self-consciously. He turns to stare down at her impassively, though with perhaps the barest trace of disgust, then wordlessly he reaches down and pulls her to her feet, scanning her quickly for injuries.  
__'Thank you,' she says as he releases her hand, unable to keep herself from blushing at the contact.  
__Sasuke's eyes narrow a bit at this--this is_ precisely _why this exercise is one of his least favourites, having pathetic teammates is so irritating--and he snorts, 'Don't let your guard down like that, or we'll lose.'  
__'Oh…right,' she nods, but the Uchiha boy is gone already, his passage through the dense trees scarcely a whisper.  
__The pink-haired girl presses her clenched fist (the hand he'd held of course) to her chest and grins like a fool before stuffing her empty water canister into her bag and taking off after him.  
__She couldn't wait to tell Ino about_ this.

(Nothing special, but it meant the world to her.)

-  
The first time she really embraced him was during the chuunin exam.

_She is injured, bruised and bloodied and unspeakably weary after watching over her teammates all night, and he is full of rage, killing intent pouring off him in waves; and still she throws herself forward at him, flinging her arms around him, knowing full well that he could break them in an instant, then turn and kill her if he so chose. But when he turns to glare at her out of the corner of one red, black-flecked eye, he freezes, because she is crying for him, and somehow those tears manage to cool the awful fire burning just beneath his skin…this time._

(The first of many one-sided embraces.)

-  
The first time she told him she loved him was the night he left.

_He feels a flicker of surprise when he sees her standing there, though he doesn't allow it to show. He stops for a moment, but then passes her by without looking back.  
__'Go home,' he says. 'You meddle too much,' he says. 'I'm not like you,' he says.  
__'I love you more than anything!' she sobs in reply, and this gives him pause.  
__Other girls had told him that they loved him, but he'd brushed them all aside. They didn't even know him. They hadn't spent any time with him. They_ couldn't _love him.  
__But Sakura…  
__Sakura did. Sakura had. Sakura…  
__…Sakura, innocent, fragile Sakura, doesn't deserve to get dragged into this awful mess with him. This revenge is his goal, his burden, his destruction, not hers.  
__'You're annoying,' he says, turning back to smirk at her (to get one last good look at the first person to_ really_ love him in years) before starting forward once more.  
__She threatens to scream; he can't have that, of course, and there's one more thing that he still has to say.  
__Before she knows it, he's behind her. He sees her stiffen, hears her quiet gasp when she realises this (just a second too late, had he been an enemy), but she doesn't turn; she's waiting to see what he does. She trusts him, he realises, but even that can't stop him now.  
__'Sakura…thank you.'  
__It is the most he can bring himself to say, and he can only hope that she understands._

(She thought those words were the most powerful in existence; it hurts to learn that even though that might be true, it doesn't matter in the end.)

-  
The first time he admits how he really feels for her, it is already too late.

_'I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun…'  
__He stares in horror at the scene before him, drops to one knee at her side, not caring that his clothes will be stained with blood and dirt and whatever else because of it.  
__'Tsunade-shishou taught me that…medic-nin have to avoid…getting injured at all costs, but…when I saw him coming for you, I couldn't help it…'  
__He fumbles with her bag, tearing through it in the hopes of finding something, anything to stop the bleeding, even though a mere glance at the wound is enough to tell him that there's absolutely nothing he can do.  
__'Sakura, stop talking and heal yourself.' The words sound clipped and angry, but really it's worry that drives him to snap at her, though he winces a bit at his own tone.  
__'Can't…not enough chakra.'  
__Her voice is already weak, far weaker than he can stand because she is supposed to be strong and loud and_ annoying, _dammit, and yet she has the nerve to smile up at him and keep talking in that faint, awful voice.  
__'I'm sorry…that I can't heal you…I know you're hurt…'  
__'I'll live,' Sasuke mutters, then chokes on whatever else he was going to say, because he's faced with the reality that yes, he will, and she won't.  
__Her hand twitches; instantly his own darts out to clutch at it tightly, and her smile widens a bit more.  
__'Sasuke-kun, I…still love you, you know…ever since…that day at the Academy.'  
__He swallows hard and nods, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, because he owes her at least that much for taking that attack and saving his life, and maybe if she can read his mind he won't have to say the words that are caught in his throat.  
__'…'S cold…Sasuke-kun…' She shivers in the near-stifling heat of the summer night; without thinking, without removing the blood-soaked cloth he was using in a vain attempt to slow her bleeding, Sasuke scoops her up in his arms; her own arms slide around him, and she leans her head against his shoulder and breathes a quiet sigh.  
__Her eyes drift closed, and Sasuke finds himself watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest, dreading the inevitable moment when that movement will stop.  
__Her breath has slowed, coming in quiet, erratic gasps, when unexpectedly her eyes open again. 'Sasuke…kun…thank…you…' The corners of her mouth quirk upwards, her eyes drift closed again, and her last breath escapes her in a faint sigh.  
__Sasuke stares down into her still face, eyes wide, then his own face twists in pain and anger and a dozen other emotions that are all too familiar. He wants to hate her for how peaceful she looks now, but nothing could be farther from the truth; it's too late to say the words now--such small, simple words, yet somehow so very hard to say--but there isn't a power anywhere strong enough to keep him from thinking them.  
__So he holds her close, fairly crushing her his chest, and buries his face in her hair to hide sudden, unexpected tears, clutching her body to his own as the last traces of life drain from her, his arms locked around her tightly, fully returning her embrace--the first time he's ever done so._


	6. vi, Appropriate, Uncertainty, Photograph

_A/N: #17 is part 1 of 2 (the second will be #28), and it is NOT really my theory of what will happen in the series, but I suppose it's a possibility at this point._

* * *

**- 16. Appropriate; Are you Sure? (here and now) -**

"_Sakura…" he says, and she opens her eyes to find him wearing an oddly tense expression. "I think we should stop."_

-

The evening had started off innocently enough. Sakura and Naruto had dragged Sasuke out for dinner, after which they'd somehow ended up back at Sakura's apartment, the television blaring commercials and reruns of old sitcoms that were largely disregarded due to the overwhelming volume of challenges, insults, and popcorn being thrown back and forth amongst the three young jounin sprawled across the living room couch and chairs.

"Sorry to break up the party," Naruto proclaims after he and Sakura finally succeed in dumping half the bowl of unpopped popcorn kernels down the back of Sasuke's shirt, each receiving a couch cushion to the face for their trouble, "but I should probably be heading home, or Hinata might start to worry."

"Good riddance," Sasuke growls, still tugging irritably at the back of his shirt in an attempt to shake out a few stubborn popcorn shells that had managed to lodge themselves in the soft, loose material.

Naruto's eyes dart to Sakura before settling back on Sasuke's, and before he disappears out the nearest window, he gives the Uchiha an unspeakably sly wink.

Sasuke blinks, bemused, and assists Sakura in cleaning up the honestly rather impressive mess they've succeeded in making of her usually-neat living room.

After ten minutes or so of concentrated cleaning, the room is presentable once again, and Sakura drops onto the couch next to Sasuke with a satisfied sigh.

"Thanks for staying to help, Sasuke-kun," she says turning a warm smile up at him, and Sasuke is suddenly acutely aware of how close they're sitting. The room is still only dimly lit from their earlier television-watching session, and her eyes are dark with shadows and maybe…maybe something else. He realises after a moment that she's leaning towards him--or is he leaning towards her?--and abruptly he pushes back, climbing quickly to his feet.

Sakura looks up at him curiously (apparently he must have been the one doing the leaning, as she appears not the least bit off-balance) and he gives a vague mumble of "bathroom" before retreating down the hall and making a temporary escape.

_What the hell,_ he wonders, giving his head a little shake before splashing some cold water onto his face. When he tries to exit the bathroom, however, he's perplexed to find that the door he entered through refuses to open, even after several minutes' worth of determined handle-twisting and persistent tugging. With a shrug, Sasuke tries the other door (thankfully it's a walk-through bathroom), thinking to go out and around through Sakura's bedroom…

…And freezes the instant he sets foot in the adjoining room; Sakura calmly continues tying the sash of her silk sleeping yukata, the front of which is open just wide enough to be intriguing.

The yukata's thin, sleek material shows off her curves well, he thinks, and he can't help but be slightly taken aback by the fact that he's made that observation at all.

He's even more nonplussed when she turns to face him fully, a surprisingly coy smile on her face; this situation is obviously intentional, has plainly been set up, Sasuke knows, but he finds that all he can do is stand and stare.

Across the room and behind her come-hither smile, Sakura is honestly terrified, terrified that she's not pretty enough, terrified that he'll reject her again, terrified that she's _doing this wrong,_ terrified that she's making the wrong decision. But she's even more terrified of never getting another chance at this, and so she forces down her apprehension and forces her feet to move towards him, lowering her eyelids demurely in an attempt to hide the anxiety she's sure must be plainly visible on her face.

But as she slowly closes the distance between them, coming to a stop scarcely a foot in front of him, she can see uncertain, half-formed desire flicker through his eyes for just a fraction of an instant, and she takes full advantage of it.

Before he knows it (and almost before she herself does) she's kissing him, her body pressing up against his, and he's kissing back, his arms reflexively sliding around her to pull her even closer; all thought and reason utterly abandons him, the overwhelming intensity of the pleasurable sensations crashing into him and carrying away all thoughts of anything other than soft lips and soft skin and the touch and taste of both. As their breathing quickens and the intensity of their kisses steadily increases, she guides his hands away from the neutral territory of her waist to other, far more interesting areas, encouraging him to explore a bit. He is hesitant at first, some scrap of rational thought temporarily resurfacing, and he mutters something about it not being appropriate between kisses, but the words are soon lost in the heat of the moment, the warmth of her mouth, the rush of the blood pounding in their ears and through their bodies.

Her hands have not been idle either. Once she's certain that he's overcome his momentary doubts about the propriety of the situation_ (fully_ overcome them, she thinks as the neck of her yukata slips open a little wider and she moans into his mouth), her own hands slide under his shirt, lightly grazing taut, toned muscles and pulling him closer.

She's still much more aware of their surroundings than Sasuke, however, and has been steadily maneuvering them across the room; he hardly seems to notice when the back of her knees hit the bed, sending them both tumbling onto the soft mattress and waiting sheets.

Sakura smiles a bit as she continues to return kisses that almost feel hungry, triumph singing through her veins and adding to the overwhelming joy and pleasure of the moment. He pushes the yukata back off her shoulders, lips still pressed hard against her own; she shrugs out of it and reaches for the waistband of his pants—and suddenly his hands still, and the insistent pressure of his mouth against hers vanishes, leaving her bewildered and almost painfully unsatisfied. She makes a small noise of protest and clings to him more tightly as she feels him start to pull back, and he lets out a breathy sigh that contains a surprising amount of regret and frustration.

"Sakura…" he says, and she opens her eyes to find him wearing an oddly tense expression. "I think we should stop." His voice is low and his breathing is ragged, but there's no mistaking the clarity of thought in his tone.

She isn't certain that this isn't a terrible mistake, but then again she's never been certain about a lot of things; but one thing she is _completely_ certain of is that she wants this--that she wants _him_--and she wants him here and now.

And so she arches her back, pressing the length of her body against his, and despite the utter lack of any change in his expression, she knows that she's having an effect on him: she can see him starting to sweat ever so slightly, can hear the faint hitch in his breathing, can feel his heart pounding through his chest and against her own. She leans in to whisper in his ear, allows her warm breath to touch his cheek for a heartbeat before she speaks:

"You kept me waiting for five years, Sasuke-kun…" She pauses long enough to gently nip at his earlobe, then briefly presses her lips to the sensitive skin just below it. "…How much longer are you going to make me wait?"

He wants to give in. They both know it. Both want it. Want _each other._ But just when Sakura's certain she's won, that she's convinced him, he suddenly pulls away, staring at her hard.

"…Until I'm sure that this is what I really want."

In a single fluid motion he's rolled himself onto his side and then off the bed and onto his feet. Sakura stares, shivers and draws her yukata more tightly around herself as Sasuke calmly adjusts his clothing, then heads for the door without a backwards glance, showing her his back once again.

It's a familiar view, but somehow the sight has never seemed so cold.

* * *

**- 17. Eto…; Hmmmm… (uncertainty) -  
**

At the age of seventeen, Sakura cuts her hair again. It had started to get long, falling a few inches past her shoulders, sleek and soft and beautiful.

It's a shame to cut it, really. But it has to go.

She's older now, far older than her seventeen years, and this premature maturity is made even more apparent by her new, much more severe haircut. No more long, wispy strands to soften the angles of her face, to hide the sharp glint in her eyes and the firm set of her mouth.

But being soft is not what being a kunoichi is about. It is a hard life full of hard decisions and even harder truths, and Sakura's life has been filled with enough of these that, had she been of lesser mettle, she would have broken long before. But she is resilient; she has been tempered, folded in on herself and shoved into the fire so many times now that she is nearly indestructible.

It's been nearly two years since they all vanished from her life without a trace.

Naruto had been captured by the Akatsuki, killed as they tore the Kyuubi out of him and left him to rot in a clearing in the middle of Rain Country. Kakashi had sacrificed himself, giving Naruto his life with the tensei ninjutsu he'd memorised when Chiyo-sama had used it to bring back Gaara, saying that this was the only way, that it was his duty to protect the younger generation and that if he hadn't screwed up in the first place_ (too focused on the past to see the present)_, Naruto would never have been captured.

Naruto had never been quite the same after that, though—he'd been grimmer, quieter, and got tired so much more quickly. Still, that hadn't stopped him from sacrificing himself to save the Village when the Akatsuki leader had finally unleashed the monstrosity he'd worked so hard to create: a hideous conglomeration of all nine bijuu. Stubborn as he was, Naruto had refused to back down even in the face of that atrocity; after a final appeal to the Kyuubi (which liked its new position even less than being contained by Naruto), he had obtained more than enough power to seal the whole monster inside his own body…and then, with a smile on his face, had taken his own life, taking the beast with him. _(Like father, like son.)_

Sai had vanished in that fight, and Yamato had been killed while trying to restrain Akatsuki's terrible creation—Sakura had watched, horrified, as his body slowly disintegrated in the steady rush of flames. She had been injured herself and hadn't been able to get to him to try to pull him to safety, but she knew that even if she had, it wouldn't've mattered; he'd been determined to slow that terrible beast down and buy Naruto the time he needed to contact the Kyuubi and then perform his final, all-important jutsu.

Sasuke's disappearance was much more arbitrary. He simply hadn't returned, even after word reached Konoha that Uchiha Itachi had been found dead _('brutally murdered' was a more accurate description)_. They hadn't heard a word from him since Akatsuki had been completely destroyed, though every few months or so there was the occasional vague report of a missing nin who matched his description.

Which meant that he was still out there somewhere. And she was going to find him and bring him back.

-  
Besides herself, Shikamaru is the only one of the "Rookie Nine" and Gai's Team left. He's taken to smoking again, has gone through at least a pack a day for nearly a year now, ever since a small flaw in one of his many, varied plans cost his squad a life—Chouji's. She knows that he no longer spends his time staring upwards at the clouds; instead, he works almost unceasingly in a vain attempt to _forget,_ though he might as well be trying to wish away the scent of the acrid smoke constantly coiling about him.

Sakura had found him standing and staring at the memorial stone one morning, and he'd come every morning since; until Ino's failure to return from an intelligence mission two months ago, the shapely blonde joined them, too, staring at the names and seeing faces that were not their own looking back at them from the polished surface.

Lee had died in the attack on the Village. He opened the final gate, saving a seriously wounded Neji, finally surpassing his rival at the cost of his life. Tenten had also died in that battle, as had Gai-sensei.

Shino disappeared on a mission a few months later; a half-dead Akamaru had returned carrying a critically-wounded Hinata on his back and Kiba's ragged body in his mouth.

Neji and Hinata had gone on missions together from then on, which Sakura had at first thought of as a gesture of kindness; only when Neji returned from one of their missions alone, smelling of smoke and with a blood-soaked bag in his hand did she realise the truth. _(Protect the Main Branch and the secrets of the Hyuuga bloodline at all costs indeed.)_

She had seen the guilt haunting his ghostly-pale eyes, however, and she was not surprised when he didn't return from his next S-rank mission.

-  
There are too many memories here, and too few of the people they contain here to remember them with. Far too few.

She's gradually taken to walking by alternate routes to avoid certain areas--the Shueido bookstore, a certain weapons vendor, the Hyuuga compound, and many more, but especially the flower shop, especially Ichiraku--it is too painful to do otherwise. She's already received more than her share of emotional training, she is a strong kunoichi, she _should_ be able to deal with this, but it's still too fresh and all too painful and entirely too real.

She needs to get out.

And Tsunade has just the mission for her.

In those two years, the beautiful Godaime Hokage seems to have aged even more than her apprentice, or perhaps the responsibility of her position has weighed on her a little more heavily ever since her grandfather's necklace was returned to her a third time, ever since a certain blonde idiot _(hero)_ had a foolish _(unintentional)_ childhood wish fulfilled and had his name engraved on a certain stone in the middle of Training Ground Three.

_Anything else? _she asks, painted lips turned slightly upwards, but both women know there's nothing behind the expression other than habit and common courtesy; it's been a long time since either has smiled with her eyes and her heart as well as their mouth.

For a fraction of a second, Sakura hesitates, but there _is_ something else, and it's not something she _needs,_ but it's somehow necessary just the same. It just seems _right_ somehow, she thinks as green eyes settle on the trinket, and before she knows it she's said what she's thinking.

_Shishou…give me that._

It hadn't quite been a request.

Tsunade had started a bit, amber eyes going wide, and tried to protest, but one look at the set expression on Sakura's face had silenced her; wordlessly she'd handed her necklace to her apprentice, who had accepted it with a nod of thanks before bowing and leaving the room.

She had not looked back to see the tears gathering in her mentor's eyes, but she'd heard the last of the Sannin fumbling about her desk drawers for the sake that she no longer has to hide since Shizune is gone. _(A terrible irony, that habits tended to be harder to kill than people.)_

-  
That evening, she had visited each and every place that held a memory one last time, since she knows that she herself might not return from this mission. The bridge, where Team Seven had met so many times. The field where she and Ino had picked flowers together as children. The Academy, where she weaves a slow path down to the front of the room, dragging the tips of her fingers across the desks, sliding into her customary seat for a moment, and closing her eyes, imagining that she was twelve again, and that if she pinched herself and then opened her eyes, she'd find that it was all just a long, terrible dream, that she was still surrounded by her friends, that happiness was still so commonplace that she could take it for granted.

The bookstore, the Hyuuga compound, the Uchiha district. She lingers in each for a long while, as if memorizing their every detail, absorbing their very essence, before passing on, silent as a ghost. _(Sometimes she could swear that she was brushing elbows with the spirits of the departed--'we are not so unalike, really,' she could almost hear them say. 'Your heart resides among us already, yet somehow you keep moving even without it.')_

At Ichiraku, she slides onto a stool and orders a bowl of ramen, and though she has no appetite, she forces herself to eat every last bite, and drain the bowl dry. _("Thanks, old man," she says hoarsely as she sets the bowl back on the counter with a dull _thunk;_ both Ayame and her father wonder at the quiet tremour in her voice, then exclaim in astonishment when they find that Sakura has left enough money to pay for her meal eighteen times over.)_

She stops at the Yamanaka flower store to buy two dozen sprigs of forget-me-nots, though her gaze lingers over the daffodils, the red roses, and especially the cosmos, until she's given her change and the wrapped bouquet is handed to her.

Last of all is Training Ground Three, and the Centograph. She kneels before the stone, bowing respectfully, placing the flowers in front of it before sitting back on her heels at staring at her reflection, cast back at her from among the names of her friends, her peers, her loved ones.

And still there are no tears. She hasn't cried since Ino died; she's gone so numb, she thinks she might have forgotten how.

Raising a hand she slowly traces the names, her fingers and her mind lingering longest on the loudmouthed blonde who had so literally given everything to save the people and places that he treasured, who had changed the life of every single person he'd come into contact with, changed them forever, unforgettably, irrevocably: a personal revolution. And Sakura closes her eyes, bows her head as if in prayer, resting her oversized forehead against the dark, cool stone and thinking of the world of change brought about inside herself due to the mere existence of an irrepressible whisker-faced boy who never knew when to give up.

The hint of a smile plays about her lips. Yet another infectious quality that he'd passed on to her, and she'd been more than just a little stubborn to start with.

_I'll find him for you, Naruto. I swear it. I'll bring him back in your place…so lend me your strength and your bravery and that ridiculous hope…please…_

After that, just one thing remained to seal that promise _(the promise of a lifetime)_ so that everyone who looked at her would realise that she was different, that she had changed.

And so, just as she had five years ago, she draws her kunai, and cuts away her restrictions.

Once again, this is not the sign of a broken heart; Sakura has never felt more whole than she does the moment the keen edge of her blade slices easily through medium-length pink locks, or more at peace than as she watches the strands catch on the wind and whirl away. She watches them drift off and vanish without a hint of regret, eyes bright and sharp and steady, raggedly shorn hair _(Ino would have scoffed at those uneven ends if she were here to see them)_ ruffled by the passing breeze.

-  
And now, as she looks out over the city where she grew up, watching as the wind comes to claim the snippet of hair that she saved for it as an offering of sorts, snatching it from her hand and scattering it like a blessing on all that is below, she knows that she's finally ready for this.

_No more hesitation. No more uncertainty._

Once again, it is a sign of change, of determination…

…And a reminder of an old, second-hand promise, one that nothing short of death itself will prevent her from keeping.

* * *

**- 18. Photograph (a shadow of you) -  
**

She still has the photograph. It sits on top of her dresser, and even after nearly three whole years, the memories it drags grudgingly to the surface still have the distressing power to make her cry.

He is gone. And somehow, despite the fact that Naruto has promised again and again that they will get him back, Sakura knows that Sasuke is gone for good. He will not be coming back. Ever. That future that she somehow knows will come to pass haunts her, though she tries to bury it beneath bright smiles and a tough attitude.

The past haunts her as well, the thought that maybe, just maybe, if she had been stronger, she could have stopped him, could have convinced him that she was worth taking along, could have _done_ something, done _anything._

And so her present is full of specters and spirits, and she is never allowed to forget, never allowed to heal.

The third year since Sasuke's desertion comes to an end, and her prediction comes true, at least for the most part, because he doesn't come back…not alive, anyway. Regardless of his crimes against Konoha, when they return, covered in blood and dirt and the tattered remains of their clothing, Naruto cradling the last Uchiha's broken body in his arms like a beloved child, somehow the Hokage finds it in her heart to allow him to be buried with honour.

Sakura surprises everyone by not shedding a single tear throughout the entire ceremony.

But the years pass, and she still has the photograph. It still sits on top of her dresser, surrounded by flowers, a shrine to those memories. To him. Because it's the only photograph that she has of him, and other than the memories, it's all she has left.


	7. vii, Cry, Violence, Lost Memories

_A/N: Well. It's been a while. Not entirely happy with these._

* * *

**- 19. Cry; Sadness (my gift to you) -**

She has never seen him cry.

Crying is showing your inner weakness: it reveals your pain, allows others to know that they have hurt you.

And yet, perhaps that is not entirely true--she has seen Naruto cry countless times, and he is undoubtedly the strongest person she knows. Maybe tears are merely a different sort of strength.

Or maybe they're just an acceptance of weakness, an acknowledgment of a flaw, because they're against regulations, whatever they are, something never to be shown, an unseemly and unprofessional sort of fragility unbefitting of a shinobi. It takes a certain type of bravery (or carelessness, or overwhelming rush of emotions) to flaunt the rules and allow yourself to cry, though when those situations come up, those rules can go to hell for all you care.

But regardless of their cause or import or "true meaning", tears will always hold a special significance between the two of them.

Because her tears are among the many things she's given to him freely, and they are the one thing that he's never refused.

* * *

**- 20. Violence; War (beautiful in blood) -**

She loves to watch him fight.

The way he moves makes her think of silk and shadows and wind rippling through long blades of grass, every motion radiating power and surety and breathless grace. He doesn't waste time or energy on showy movements or flashy attacks; his style is straightforward, using only the most effective methods, each strike a calculated effort to bring the encounter closer to its end. He's like a machine, quick and efficient, though no machine has ever come close to matching the lethal elegance of Konoha's number one ANBU operative in the middle of combat.

There's something mesmerising about each subtle flick of his wrist, each pivot and lunge, each slash and parry, something enthralling about his grim silence as he tears out the hearts and rips the breath from victim after victim, the fluid life streaming from between his black-gloved fingers matched by the hue of his eyes.

She loves how deadly he is, even if it proves that he's heartless now, and has no room for her, no room left for anything but darkness and moonlight on steel and _the mission_ and the coppery scent of rich, red blood.

Sheathing his katana, he turns to look at her, though she knows he isn't really seeing her, that nothing ever really reaches the depths of those dead black eyes anymore, that no light is strong enough to bring the gleam of life back into them.

The only time there's any hint of emotion, any trace of the person he used to be, is when his eyes snap from jet to scarlet, when they're filled with simmering anger and lingering bitterness and thinly veiled threats of a death drowning in crimson.

The only time he's actually looking out of them is when they've spun to red. And the only people he _really_ looks at are those who are about to die.

But even knowing that, she can't change a thing about how she feels about him.

And even with blood splattered on the front of his ANBU vest, over his arm guards, and across a significant portion of his face, scarlet marring the pristine white of his uniform, crimson speckles drying on his marble-pale skin, she still thinks that he is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

Red is his colour.

* * *

**- 21. Lost Memories (forgetfulness in your eyes) – prompted by Chapter 306 of the manga (and disproved by 347 & 414 XD) -  
**  
"Sakura."

All he had to do was say her name, and as always, she was powerless before him.

"Sasuke…kun."

Memories come flooding back at the simple, rich sound of his voice, deeper than before but still the same, still him, still _Sasuke_, and she has to fight to hold back the tears that rise to her eyes just looking up at him. Like his voice, his face, his figure, everything about him is slightly different, but regardless they are unmistakably the same ones that have been seared into her memories with perfect clarity.

But as she continues to look up into his eyes, her control wavers, though she is far too shocked to find it in her to shed a single tear.

She remembers everything.

But she can tell just by looking that he remembers nothing at all.


	8. viii, Blush, Black Roses, Fairytale

_A/N: Concerning #23 - black roses represent death and can thus be used as a symbol to express vengeance towards a foe. But others interpret that more liberally, suggesting as a meaning for black roses the death of old habits, thus signaling a rebirth._

**

* * *

- 22. Blush (traitorous blood) -  
**

"You still haven't let go, have you?"

There is no tenderness in Sasuke's tone, but it's not exactly accusing either.

Sakura's first impulse is to play dumb, but one look at his expression, his piercing eyes, changes her mind.

"I think of you as my friend and my teammate, nothing more," she says instead.

The lie comes easily, and he'd almost believe it if not for the momentary loss of eye contact and the faint tinge of crimson rising to her cheeks.

"Your feelings are your own business," he says flatly as he brushes past her, continuing on his way as if she's not worth another few moments of his time, "but if you're going to lie about them, at least learn to do it convincingly."

Sakura bows her head slightly as he goes, cheeks and eyes burning, one with blood, the other with tears, though if she could see Sasuke's expression, she'd be startled by just how much regret is evident on his face.

**

* * *

- 23. Black Roses (white snake) -**

From the look of him, there could be little doubt that he was dying.

He'd left a trail of blood, so following him had been easy enough, and when at last she caught up, Sakura wasn't surprised to find him down on one knee, clutching at a wound in his side, thick scarlet rivulets running from both corners of his mouth. She reached him just as he gave a very final-sounding wheeze and collapsed face-down in the dirt, stretched out a hand to turn him over--then hesitated, uncertain. If the rumours were true…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a cough that sprayed droplets of blood several feet to the side; and that made up her mind for her.

With the help of a little chakra boost, she soon had him on his back, keeping his head turned to the side in the hopes of preventing him from drowning in his own blood. She fell to work immediately, pressing her palms to his chest, horrified at the extent of the damage she found, determined to save him just the same. A hint of anxiety still plagued her at first, but when his eyes snapped open to reveal vibrantly red irises, she relaxed just a fraction.

He didn't seem to recognise her, but then again, he was likely in shock from the injuries themselves and all the blood loss resulting from them, and a moment later, he gave another choked wheeze, his eyes rolled back into his head, and his entire body went disturbingly limp.

"Don't you _dare_ die on me, Uchiha Sasuke," she half-snarled, blinking back the threat of gathering tears burning around the rims of her eyes. Now was the time to _work_ to _do her job_ not sob uselessly over his body like she had back on Team Seven's first A-rank mission.

_I can do this, I can heal him, I can, I know I can, I--_

But just as she finished sealing off the worst of the internal injuries, enough that he should've been able to hold on long enough for her to get him some place where they could perform more complicated healing techniques, his breathing hitched, and a few seconds later, his heart came to a stop.

She tried shocking his heart back into motion with her chakra a few times, and when that failed, she started CPR without the briefest flicker of hesitancy to her movements—not even when she administered the breaths.

After another few attempts at jolting his heart into action without any response, the pink-haired medic-nin sat back on her heels, jerking her hands away from him, staring down at the still face of the first boy she'd ever loved, shock rendering her momentarily motionless.

She'd seen people die before, of course. She'd held their hands, watched them slowly let go in hospital rooms or out on the field, seen others pass away during surgeries, witnessed countless other ways of departing for the afterlife that she had no power to prevent; but this time was different. This was _Sasuke_ and he was dead--_he was_ _dead-_-and suddenly the only thing she could think about was the fact that this time, she _could _do something.

This time, she could save him.

This time, she could bring him back.

Unhesitantly, she placed her hands on his midriff once more, her expression settling into one of grim determination; then an intensely blue half-orb surrounded her hands, and she could feel her entire body vibrating with the force of her life energy, shaking down through her arms, shuddering and shivering its way out of her body and into Sasuke's.

It was a _tensei ninjutsu_--the very same life transfer technique that Chiyo-baa-sama had used on Gaara, a forbidden jutsu that Sakura had literally beaten out of Kakashi not three months ago. He hadn't wanted to teach it to her, of course, but he'd seen reason after she'd burned one of his _Icha Icha_ books in front of him, and threatened to do the same to the rest. She hadn't really thought she'd ever want to use it, at least not until she was an old woman, but she'd wanted to know it just in case she did need it one day.

The buzzing sensation was weakening now, her breath coming in shallow, strained gasps, and she could feel her heart stuttering, fighting to keep itself beating, a battle she knew it was destined to lose. But Sasuke hadn't moved, his chest hadn't started to rise and fall, and she couldn't feel any pulse yet, so she kept on pouring every bit of her chakra into him, her eyes narrowed in an effort to keep the sweat trickling down her face from getting in them.

And then, just when she'd started seeing black around the edges of her vision, he coughed, gave a low wheeze, then drew a long, rattling breath.

If she'd had the energy left, she would've cried--with relief, with joy, with simple happiness; as it was, all she could manage was a weak smile before she slumped to the side, utterly spent.

He hadn't been dead long—his body hadn't even really had time to cool down, much less stiffen up—so though it was mildly disorienting, movement wasn't really a problem; within seconds, he'd lurched upright, red eyes spinning and narrowed in an angry glare.

Sakura smiled slightly as he took her in his arms (jerked her towards him, really, but she was feeling so disjointed--most of her body had already gone numb, and she could feel her heart faltering, skipping almost as many beats as it hit--that he could've slapped her across the face and she'd've felt it as a gentle caress), and to her hazy vision, the scowl he turned on her was the most beautiful expression she'd ever seen.

_…He's angry at me for doing this…which means…he really does care after all…_

Sasuke had been able to see the colour of chakra for a long time now, and looking at Sakura now offered the bleakest of images. There was very little colour left to her; she was a bland, sandy beige rapidly fading to dismal grey, the shade of ash and corpses.

This knowledge only seemed to cause his scowl to deepen, however. "…Sakura…why?"

"Because…I…love you," she murmured, her eyes slowly growing unfocused as her heart gave one final pulse, then stilled. "And…I'm more than happy…to give my life…for yours…Sasuke…ku…"

She mouthed that final syllable of her sentence silently, her last breath proving insufficient to allow her to complete it aloud, but it left her with a smile on her face, and in the arms of the boy she'd loved since she was child.

"I know, Sakura," he whispered, brushing soft pink locks out of one partially closed eye before laying her out on the ground before him and folding her hands over her chest. For a long moment he stared down at her; after a time, his shoulders started shaking…and then a smile slowly formed on his lips, growing until his mouth was stretched unnaturally wide, an expression that looked hideously out of place on the generally-impassive Uchiha Sasuke, though it fit well with the slitted golden eyes that were revealed once the vivid scarlet of the Sharingan faded away.

"In fact," he said, the words coming out closer to a hiss than intelligent speech, "I _counted_ on it."

And the white snake is reborn once more.

* * *

**- 24. Once upon a time (and happily ever afters) -**

"Once upon a time." That is how all fairytales begin, or at least how they should. Children everywhere treasure those four small words as they curl beneath warm blankets, expectant smiles on their faces as they listen to the story being weaved for them. It doesn't matter that they have heard the story before, and they never tire of it, they never seem to notice that really all the stories are the same. There is always a problem or a danger, and some plain, ordinary person always overcomes it through courage, wit, or love. The ending, like the beginning, is predictable—"And they lived happily ever after"—and the children never question it, because it satisfies their simple, innocent minds.

It has been a long time since Sakura was simple or innocent, and she has learned that fairytales are not real, at least not the ones that she was told as a child. She has also learned that not all fairytales end happily, that sometimes everything isn't resolved: sometimes the princess isn't saved, sometimes the monster kills the brave young warrior, sometimes the battle is lost.

She has learned this by living it herself. She has seen it acted out, as though from a script, and she knows all too well that if she _is_ living a fairytale, as she had once dreamed when she was younger, then she is not in one of the tales that will end with any sort of happily ever after.**  
**


	9. ix, Under Your Skin, Line Between, Touch

- **25. Under your skin (annoying) -  
**

"You're annoying."

He says it yet again, and what he bothers to say he usually means.

He doesn't bother to say _why_ he finds her annoying, but of course he would sooner die than admit that it's because she's on his mind a lot more often than he would like, filling his senses with her cheerful voice and ringing laughter, her graceful figure, her pretty face, her subtly sweet perfume, her gentle touches. She's gotten under his skin.

Annoying.

* * *

**- 26. Line between Love and Hate (crossing over) -  
**

Hating is much easier than loving, Sasuke thinks. It is safer, because you expect the ones you hate to hurt you, so it is never a surprise; but when the ones you love deceive you, the pain is enough to make you wish for death—yours, or perhaps theirs, if the betrayal is terrible enough. There's also less risk involved. When you grow close to someone, they expect to learn about you, which can be frightening. It leaves you open, it is a weakness. Loving is foolish. _She_ is foolish, and he hates her for telling him that she loves him.

And yet, he protects her with his life, because regardless of what he says, she is important to him.

He tries not to think about it, tries not to analyze it, because if he does, he might realise that he loves her, too. And she is too weak for him to love, she has no bloodline limit, no special skills that anyone with enough determination couldn't learn just as well, if not better--or so he tells himself, regardless of the fact that he _knows_ she's a gifted medic-nin and that her high intelligence level makes her more dangerous than many of the supposedly "more gifted" shinobi he's encountered. And yet despite knowing that she can turn mountains into gravel and bring people back from the very edge of death with nothing more than her two hands, he also knows that she's still soft deep down, still sentimental and weak, and it both disgusts and captivates him, because her feelings towards him are every bit as unwelcome now as they have ever been, but there's a lot more to those feelings than trivial things like his skills or appearance, and she's a great deal more complex and complicated than he'd once thought.

And as much as he might hate her for her own weakness, Sasuke hates himself even more for not being able to accept the truth: that deep down, he's every bit as weak and emotional as Sakura.

* * *

- **27. To touch the Devil is to die (fall to temptation) -  
**

She knows that he is dangerous, that he could kill her, that he _will _kill her if she gets in his way, if she interferes in the matter at all, and yet somehow she finds herself moving towards him. She is drawn to him in a way that even she cannot explain, and she learned long ago that fighting it did precious little good.

She is stronger than this. She knows better than to get too close to him. Playing with fire is foolish, and will get you nothing but burned hands at the very least, but like a moth to a flame, she is drawn to him, and she cannot resist that pull.

He is death; his hands are stained with it. His eyes are full of the Abyss, and when he looks up, she drowns in them, willingly casting herself into those depths, because living without him is hell, and having him near her is hell, and either way she is suffering, and at least when she is lost in those twin voids of _nothing_ that are set so enticingly in his beautiful face, the pain goes away, at least for a little while.


	10. x, Tensai or Baka?, Elements, Angst

_A/N: I realise that #29 is more of a Team 7 fic, but there's still some SasuSaku if you squint. ;)_

_And #30_... _Before anyone asks or gets angry with me or smth, I'm not supporting Sakura's actions or making a statement about similar actions with this fic. This is just what came to mind when I approached this particular prompt. I know it's a serious issue, and I'm not trying to trivialise it or anything.  


* * *

_

**- 28. Tensai or Baka? (a fool's quest) – _follows the events of # 17 - Uncertainty_**

She's been tracking him for nearly a month now, and she can tell that he's not in the best of health, most likely due to injuries that were infected or haven't been allowed to heal properly, but he's still Uchiha, still remarkably talented, and therefore still wretchedly difficult to locate if he doesn't want to be found.

So when at long last Sakura finally does manage to track down her quarry, it's hard to tell which of them is more surprised, the pink-haired kunoichi or the raven-haired missing-nin; it's hard to tell because neither betrays much in the way of facial expressions, each staring at the other across the clearing through ever-so-slightly narrowed eyes. A jaw might have clenched, or a hand tightened into a fist, but otherwise they are utterly motionless for the space of at least a dozen heartbeats.

Then, as if by some unspoken command, they leap forward simultaneously, chakra coiling visibly around a black-gloved fist, kusanagi crackling with electricity.

Steel rings on steel, and Sakura struggles just slightly, because the sword gives him a great deal more reach, and he's not just good he's _amazing,_ and it's all she can do to parry his blows and take minor cuts on her shoulders and forearms and watch and wait for an opening. She still isn't as fast as he is, not nearly, but she knows his fighting style, she knows _him,_ and that is what saves her, what evens out the playing field, because he has no idea what she's become and all the things she's learned, which ends up being enough to give her a chance to land a hard right cross on his jaw.

It's obvious that Sasuke is surprised to find himself so abruptly knocked on his ass--so surprised that he only barely keeps hold of the hilt of his sword. He simply stares at her for a moment, expression unfathomable but probably more bemused than anything else, before turning his face to the side and spitting out a mouthful of blood; and then he makes his biggest mistake. As he slowly gets to his feet, he meets her unswerving gaze straight on, something cruel and unexpectedly childish in his expression.

"You hit like a girl," he says with a condescending half-smirk.

He knows he's said the wrong thing the second the words leave his mouth, as he watches her expression harden from grim determination to simple anger. And then again maybe she _is_ as fast as he is now, because he didn't see her move and she's already right there in front of him, fist drawn back, and he belatedly realises that perhaps he should've been using his Sharingan after all, flat black eyes widening in the brief instant before her knuckles connect with his cheekbone.

And this time, she doesn't pull the punch.

She watches with cold satisfaction as he flies backward, crashing through two trees before leaving a noticeable impression in a large boulder.

She'd hit him hard enough that she'd broken a few fingers herself (at least two); and despite the gloves and the calluses, blood drips from the inside of one of the black cuffs as she raises a hand to wipe away the perspiration beading along her upper lip.

She checks him over quickly--a few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, lots of bruising and some splinters, along with a mild concussion from the impact, which had been enough to knock him unconscious--and snaps his shoulder back into place, though she leaves the rest of his injuries untended; then with surprising ease, she slings him roughly across her shoulders in a fireman's carry and starts off towards Konoha at full speed.

It's time for someone to make some serious restitutions.

**

* * *

  
- 29. Fire; Water; Earth; Metal; Wood (basic elements) -**

When it all comes down to it, who and what they are is easily surmised by looking at their elemental inclinations.

He is Fire, he is Lightning. Once he starts burning, he cannot stop. He is swift, deadly, powerful, there in a flash and then gone, a force to be reckoned with; one strike can mean instant death.

He is Wind. He can fan the flames, he can whip it into a frenzy of sparks and spread it for miles in every direction, destroying everything in their path. He can make him stronger, but he can't stop him.

But _she,_ she is Earth. She keeps them both grounded, and the wind breaks around her unyielding face; she is a shelter from its continuous howling. She banks the fire, keeping the flames under control, holding them closely, keeping them hot and glowing and drawing out their life long past anyone's expectations. And she is Water, healing, rejuvenating, allowing the wind a portion of her strength, and the resulting storm is powerful and terrible, but it soothes the raging flames, subduing the previously-unchecked blaze, preventing it from becoming nothing more than a tool of devastation.

Without them, she is placid, unmoving, unmotivated. She freezes, she crumbles, she is worn away.

Without her, they burn themselves to the ground. They leave burns and broken landscape and no life, nothing new in their stead.

Together, it could all balance out.

**

* * *

  
- 30. Angst (never coming back) -  
**

It is impossible to look beautiful while lying in a hospital bed, but somehow Uchiha Sasuke almost manages it.

It is also impossible for Sakura not to stare at him, as she has nearly every day for three years.

She stands beside the bed and looks down, re-memorising features that she's had memorised since she was a very small child.

His hair still frames his face perfectly despite its lankness and dull sheen, his skin is pale and smooth and flawless as ever, and his eyelashes, long and dark, practically fan out over his well-set cheekbones. But his body is thin beneath the many blankets, once-strong muscles wasted into bare strips of sinew, all excess flesh seemingly flushed from his gaunt frame.

Sakura slowly traces a finger along his jaw, then her hand drops lower, finding his cold, limp one and fitting her own inside it in a tight clasp. Staring down at their joined hands, she swallows hard, and without really looking, does what she came to do.

She's tried every jutsu she can think of to bring him out of this seemingly permanent state of limbo, every technique that had even the slightest chance of reviving him as well as countless others that had no chance of doing so, but it didn't really matter, because they all yielded the same result: nothing.

Sasuke is not dead, but neither is he truly alive, for there is not the smallest sign of cognisance, not barest glimmer of awareness. Utterly and completely unresponsive.

Irreversible coma. Somatic death. A hopeless case.

But in spite of this diagnosis, Sakura has stuck by him. Blind optimism or misguided love or whatever the motivation, she has defended his very existence on many occasions. She's cut his hair and cleaned him, visited him, talked to him, discussed all sorts of matters large and small with him, and always he is uncharacteristically willing to listen, and not-so-uncharacteristically silent.

But it's been three years now, and there has never been the faintest flicker of life, or sentience, never the slightest indication that there is anything left of his soul, and Sakura has at long last come to realise the awful, painful truth:

It is just a shell. And Sasuke is never coming back.

She's here now, and she's going to do this, because it's not the shell that she loves, it's the person who was once inside that shell; but he's gone now, vanished or lost or destroyed, and she knows that all that's holding him back is the weight of that abandoned casing that he once filled with such life and power and grace.

It is cruel to force him to remain with her any longer, a selfishness, an indulgence that she will no longer allow herself; so while her right hand remains in that firm, one-sided grasp, her left wanders, fumbling across buttons and dials until it rests, trembling, on a particular panel. She pauses, not quite hesitating, swallows hard, and then that unsteady hand obeys her will.

After that, it's easier. Tubes and cords and needles are pulled and ripped and torn away like wrapping paper--no, like an eggshell, because this is another sort of birth. The various machines wail out electronic shrieks of protest and warning, all the readouts flatline, but Sakura doesn't even doesn't even look at them. Jerking one final cord from the wall silences them all, and as she turns back to survey her handiwork, Sakura learns (for the hundredth time, it feels) that sometimes it is very hard to be merciful and selfless.

She smoothes his hair down one last time, pressing her palm to his face as his skin slowly grows cold. Tears run freely down her own face, but she suddenly smiles through them, then closes her eyes, tilts her head back and forces herself to laugh. It is a halting, broken noise that is scarcely recognisable for what it is meant to be, but it is a laugh nonetheless, and mingling with the straining, choking sound of sorrow and regret are hints of fulfillment, and of relief.

It grows stronger and fuller, until she is not truly sure whether she is laughing or crying, but the feeling of_ release_ flooding through her is even thicker than the tears pouring down her cheeks.

Grief scrabbles for purchase, anguish tries to force its claws into her, but she pushes both away for now. There will be time for them later: all the time in the world.

Right now, she can only look up, can only permit herself to be happy.

Because she has finally,_ finally_ succeeding in letting Sasuke go.

And he had wanted so badly to be free.


End file.
